


KING CHARMING

by avelantsov



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, King - Freeform, Love, M/M, Servants, kingdom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avelantsov/pseuds/avelantsov
Summary: The Love Story for the Little (and Not Only) Girls.Prince Charming becomes King Charming. He is handsome, smart and most of all—kind hearted. He cannot remain unmoved by the harm of the others. And when one day (a night, actually) he sees a crying girl, he cannot just walk away. He must know what has happened to her.
Relationships: David Kostyk/Genya Safin, Mal Oretsev/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Original Character(s), Nikolai Lantsov/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	KING CHARMING

**Author's Note:**

> All of the characters, except for Katerina Viktorov, are owned by Leigh Bardugo, the author of the Grishaverse books. I came up only with the main female character of the story and every situation that isn’t in the canon story.
> 
> Also, English is not my native language. I am terribly sorry for every mistake I have made.

Zoya once told him that if he fell in love with some servant-maid and announced he wants to marry her, she—Zoya Nazyalensky, his general—would ignore the fact that it is basically a crime and punch him in his royal face. Nikolai, of course, would not be himself if he had not summed up this threat with a humorous comment that only made the black-haired woman even angrier. She shot him one of her famous gazes that make many men go weak at their knees and if only he did not know her well—and he knew her better than the other person walking on the planet—he would have probably shared their fate. Meanwhile, he only smiled charmingly at her and left the room, leaving her alone to let cool down.

He might seem like didn’t care, but the truth was, Nikolai couldn’t stop thinking about what she had told him. And it wasn’t the threat of damaging his king’s countenance that concerned him the most. It was marriage. He knew very well that eventually—and if he asked his advisers, including Zoya herself, he knew that they would prefer if it happens rather soon _—_ he will have to decide which of the beautiful highly born ladies he would take as his wife. And the thought of it made him sick. Although he was an outstanding politician, an unmatched strategist and a prudent ruler, the vision of a marriage based on the political foundations filled him with a disgusting fear. Besides, he still hadn’t got over the last time someone rejected his proposal and squashed and thrown his good intentions into the bin.

No, he did not love Alina Starkov. She was important to him, yes. He wanted to ensure her safety, all the comforts she would like, yes. He could even agree that, apart from the official side of their relationship, she could develop her other relationship—the one with Oretsev. Nikolai felt something for her he could not describe in words (even though it was the words that he always found a way out of any situation in). But he did not love her as a husband should love his wife.

He also knew that none of the ladies who seemed to be suitable for this position he could love.

 _Position_. He couldn’t define any differently what it would be like to stand by his side and share the king’s bed with him. Not even one of the high-born ladies was going to make him crazy over her. She was simply to convince him enough to entrust her with the position of his wife, Queen Ravka, mother of his descendant and heir to the throne.

Nikolai shuddered involuntarily. He had never minded a bit of innocent fun and indulging in a moment of pleasure, but in the royal context, everything was losing its taste to him. In this world, even conceiving a baby was about to be just a formality.

Zoya would probably have knocked him out for the very thoughts that haunted him, which is why he hasn’t dared to say them aloud so far. Sometimes he valued peace of mind, and it seemed to be one of those moments.

He wandered the palace corridors as quietly as possible, trying to pass unnoticed under the guards’ noses. If only they saw him walking completely alone, they would probably notify Tamar or Toyla, who would very quickly honour him with their company, meanwhile, he just wanted to be alone for a little while and take a deep breath. Even since he and Zoya returned from the Unsea, since they escaped from the death trap set for them by the saint, and their whole worldview, barely formed on a fairly weak structure, almost crumbled, he felt like he was trapped in a golden cage. Something within him screamed louder and louder and asked for freedom more and more with every single day. He feared that it was not only a feeling of being lost and the spectre of an inevitable marriage that haunted him but also a darkness that had taken root in him too deeply to be eradicated in a simple way. And perhaps the carefully hidden fear directly related to the figure trapped in the cell, whose steely gaze pierced him right through, whenever he dared to face it.

He sighed heavily before he realised that someone may hear him, and almost immediately clenched his jaw, making the muscles of his face tense. He paused, listening for any sounds reviling someone rushing to meet him, but the corridor was plunged into utter, undisturbed silence.

“At least that much good,” he thought and was about to walk away when a single, muffled, brief sound reached his ears. Before he could focus on it enough to compare it to anything else, it seemed to dissolve into thin air. There was silence again, but since Nikolai heard it once, it meant its source must be somewhere nearby, trying to slip through the corridors as silently as he did. It didn’t sound like an attack either, so hesitating only for a moment as he moved in the opposite direction to what he had chosen at first. He could only guess, but it was overwhelmingly where the strange sound had come from.

Sob. It was a sob, soft and muffled, suddenly echoing off the stone walls. This time, the owner of this inarticulate sound couldn’t keep it from slipping through the vocal cords and coming to the surface. The sobs grew louder, more expressive, and more pathetic as the king—walking as softly and gently as he could—neared the nearest fork.

The person who sobbed so pathetically huddled on the cold floor just around the corner. A storm of curly hair, with which the glow of flaming torches made a fiery hue, covered her face, hands hugged her knees, bare feet sticking out from under her muddy dress. Chills shook her entire body, and Nikolai was certain it was not only from crying but also from the cold. Whoever she was, she portrayed a picture of misery and despair, and Nikolai Lantsov could not remain idle in the face of someone else’s harm.

“Hey,” he said because he had no idea how else he could start a conversation with a weeping stranger girl who, judging by the colour of her modest dress, was probably one of the servants.

When she raised her head and looked up, his eyes saw a tearful face streaked with sticky strands of hair. Even in the dim light, he could clearly see the swollen, red eyes and trembling lips. He hasn’t remembered seeing the girl before. He knew the names of every person working in the palace, yet she was a complete stranger to him.

The girl recognised him in a split second. She jumped up from the floor as quickly as if it was at least burning her, in the process stepping on the hem of her dress with her bare foot and bowed clumsily. “Your Majesty,” she said, or rather sobbed, her voice still drenched with crying. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she blurted out quickly, not looking up from the ground. Her fingers felt the nerve of her worn cloth, and Nikolai had the right impression that if it had not been because he was the king, she would have run away long ago. But she had to show him the respect he deserved, and that was what she was trying to do—even if she was standing in front of him in a stained and torn dress, without shoes, with her hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks.

Nikolai, however, did not care for the respect he deserved. Not when he realised that someone needed help, not courtesy. He was too sensitive to the harm of another human being to care at that moment that he was, in fact, the king.

“Look at me,” he said, taking a step towards the girl. He tried his best to make his voice sounds gentle, not like he was giving her an order, but when she lifted her head and looked at him, he was afraid that it was exactly how she took his words. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears again.

“Your Majesty,” she began, but her voice broke. She bit her lip so hard that Nikolai thought she was going to bite it off. The sight almost broke his heart.

“What’s your name?” he asked because before he asked why he found her in the middle of the night sitting on the floor of the palace corridor, all muddy and crying, he must know how to address her.

“Ka-Katerina, Your Majesty,” she replied, stuttering. Though her face was still facing him, her gaze drifted sideways as if she was afraid to look him straight in the eye.

“Katerina,” Nikolai repeated, delicately tasting the sound of her name on his tongue, then smiled as gently as he could. “Please, tell me what happened.”

The hands of the girl who introduced herself as Katerina tightened tightly around the folds of her dress. It was as if the mere thought of what had happened to her could bring the hysteria out of her heart, and to be honest, Nikolai wouldn’t be surprised if that had happened. Whatever happened must have made a huge, incredibly strong and negative impression on her.

“Katerina,” he said once more, not entirely sure he will get a word out of her. Maybe someone hurt this poor girl. Her dress was torn and dirty and her hair was tangled. If anyone touched her in his palace, he must have known it. He had to take the consequences. He had to teach this bastard who had committed such a disgusting act, what the respect for another person means.

He clenched his jaw involuntarily, and as soon as he realised that, he relaxed it. She noticed nothing. She stared somewhere over his shoulder, fighting against the trembling of her entire body. He wanted to take one more step towards her to show her he really wanted her help, but he wasn’t sure that she would accept this gesture. She probably wouldn’t. Not if someone did hurt her. After the quick calculation, he stayed where he was, but said her name again.

“They buried my dog,” she said, so softly that if it weren’t because they were alone in the corridor, he might not have heard her. “They buried him alive.”

At first he frowned as he digested the information she had given him. _They buried my dog_. Only now did he see that her hands were dirty as well. _They buried him alive_. She had to dig. She had to try to save him. That explained the state she was in.

She must have been too late.

Before Nikolai opened his mouth, her sobs echoed between the palace walls, and she fell back to the floor. Her legs could not support her weight. Shaken by the spasms of crying, she hit her knees to the ground, and the king, without even considering what he was doing, knelt beside her.

“Please forgive me,” she sobbed, choking on her own tears. Regret squeezed Nikolai’s heart. This poor girl was desperate. Though she tried, she couldn’t help but sob from her chest. “I,” she began, but the next words stuck in her throat.

And for this one time in his life, Nikolai Lantsov did not know how to behave in the company of a woman. He had comforted many of them over the years, but he had never met one on his way whose despair had touched him so deeply. Meanwhile, Katerina’s cries carved paths in his heart.

“Who did it,” he asked because that thought was the loudest one burning his mind from the inside. Someone had hurt this girl and—no matter how—he had to know who it was.

She wiped her tear-soaked cheeks with her dirty hands and looked at Nikolai with her brown eyes. They were wide open despite the swelling. Amid the mounting waves of deep despair, he saw in them what might have been a shadow of surprise. Here the King of Ravka himself was kneeling right in front of her, on the cold floor in the hallway in the middle of the night, and instead of sending her anywhere but here, he was trying to find out why she was crying. In the eyes of an ordinary girl, the situation must have been downright ridiculous.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered and shook her head. “I can’t,” she broke off. “I cannot.”

She was scared. Whoever dared to kill her dog, she was afraid of him.

Nikolai rose to a standing position and extended his hand towards her. For a moment, as if not understanding what was happening, she looked at him in surprise. After all, not every day the king himself offers to help you get up from the floor.

“Please get up,” he said, still not withdrawing his hand, until she finally slipped her thin and chilled hand into his—much larger and warm one. He helped her stand up to her feet, pulling her up in one agile motion. This time he didn’t give her a smile. The situation seemed too serious to even try to send her a comforting expression.

Katerina’s hand slipped from his grip, and she wiped her tearful eyes with it.

“They are the sons of Duke Zima,” she mumbled, closing her eyes as if she was saying something she shouldn’t and afraid to see the consequences of her own words.

Nikolai knew Stefan Zima way too well. He and his two sons always caused trouble in the town, and even official reprimands could not cool their temper. Tavern fights, burned barns, screaming girls—whatever was happening, everyone knew there would always be at least one Zima boy around.

“Duke Zima’s sons buried your dog?” He asked to make sure he understood correctly, but quickly wished he had chosen other words. Katerina’s eyes filled with tears again.

“Don’t bother yourself with it, Your Highness,” she said a little louder than before, or rather croaked as if she had been trying to shout over the storm for hours earlier. “Please, forgive me. I didn’t want Your Majesty to come across me. I wasn’t thinking. I was-” but Nikolai wouldn’t let her finish. Driven by some inner impulse, he placed his hand on her shoulder, drawing all her attention to him.

Brown eyes glistened with tears and the flickering light of the torch.

“Katerina, please, go back to your chamber and try to get some sleep. And don’t apologise to me, because you have no influence on the fact that the king went for a walk that night.” After that, he allowed himself a trace of a smile. “Let me decide whether I will bother myself with it.”

She nodded, and he took his hand away from her shoulder.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, looking at him one last time with her sparkling eyes, then lowered her head. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

These last words melted into thin air almost as soon as they came out of her mouth. They were so quiet and sluggish as if the girl did not know if she should even utter them. She didn’t even wait for his reaction. She turned and rushed in the direction opposite to what he had intended; towards the servants’ chambers. The sound of her bare feet hitting the floor carried along the corridor for a while before it faded away completely, and Nikolai was once again completely alone.

Still feeling the sensation a stiff fabric that covered the fiery girl’s shoulder gave him, he clenched his fingers into the fists. He had just found himself a job for the morning, and it was not the most enjoyable job—not for the sons of Duke Stefan Zima, that’s for sure.


End file.
